


Castle With A Thousand Rooms

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It was almost like something you'd read in a riddle book.  What do a rabbit with tall silky ears, a gilded snuff-box, and Lady Caroline Lamb have in common?  It might have been amusing, if her sanity hadn't depended on her finding the right answer.





	Castle With A Thousand Rooms

She was content enough in the beginning. After all, it was a pleasant room, if a little bland, white on white on white, the bed comfortable, the pillows soft, the sheets crisp, the blankets warm. There were pretty white ruffled curtains at the windows, but they were drawn closed all of the time, so while she could tell if it was day or night, she could see nothing of the sky or any of the surroundings. There was a picture on the far wall facing the bed, a rather faded print of one of Monet's more faded paintings; she supposed it was intended to be soothing. She faintly wondered why they'd bothered; the room provided nothing to be soothed from, and if they had really felt it necessary to fill that spot on the wall, {"perhaps there's a water stain?"} they might as well have saved what few pennies that print had cost and just hung a framed mat, painted, of course, white, so as not to agitate the spirits. If she ever decided it was worth the effort to speak again, she might suggest that to them.

Food arrived, she was never sure just how, and it didn't seem important; food arrived, she ate, or rather, someone spooned the food into her mouth and she swallowed; the food was as bland as the room, and not memorable. There was a tiny tickle in the back of her memory, though, that someone would have been impressed with food, any food, just appearing out of nowhere on a regular basis; she didn't remember who that could have been, and the thought slipped away from her before she could get a firm hold. She drifted back into a light sleep, {"I'll think about that tomorrow; after all, tomorrow is another day."} Her last thought was, {"why does that sound so familiar?"}. She knew it wasn't original with her; she had a momentary image of a huge white house with pillars, then it was gone.

She was starting to get a little bored. Maybe if she left this room and visited some of the others. Surely there were others; houses didn't just have one room, not in her experience. Not that she could remember that experience, but it seemed quite clear to her that they would have, more than one, she meant; it seemed rather a waste otherwise. Somewhere in the back of her mind, what was left of her mind, she thought she remembered someone telling her about a castle, "and it had a thousand rooms, each more wonderful than the one before!" Well, any other rooms wouldn't have to try to hard to get any more wonderful than the one she was in!

She'd hoped having visitors would help, but it didn't. She had them, certainly, but no one she wanted to see. Her intense disappointment at each new arrival told her that there were those she DID want to see, but not THESE people They came in pretty much three categories, quite different, but she didn't like them much, any of them, some much less than others, so there were at least degrees to her not liking.

The first came and gathered around her, or off in the corner but looking back at her, consideringly, talking about her as if she wasn't there. They made little comments about her looks, and her reflexes and certain quite private bodily functions, just as if it was their right. Now, that was just rude! And sometimes they poked and prodded at her, and sometimes there were needles; she really didn't like needles!

The second group came and while they deigned to talk to her, it was more asking questions than conversing. Some of the questions were just silly and not worth the answering; some were quite intrusive and certainly none of their business! Of course, she didn't really know any of the answers anyway, but it was the principle of the thing, surely. She considered asking them some questions in return, since there were certainly a number of things she was most curious, well, more than curious, about. Like where she was and why, how long she had to stay, and why her visitors didn't include anyone she seemed to be expecting.

But she didn't ask. She wasn't sure she could get her mouth to form words, and she couldn't remember what her voice was supposed to sound like. Anyway, she'd decided it would be a waste of her time and effort; they'd only lie to her. After all, she already knew they lied. They kept telling her things she knew weren't true, told the occasional OTHERS who came in, the ones with briefcases and notebooks and such an official air about them, they told THEM lies. Said she was Swiss, for one thing, and all alone in the world, that she had no one to care for her. Said she was simple, was incommunicative and couldn't respond, that she was a charity patient they were caring for out of humanitarian concerns. She might be missing a great deal of information, but she found her bullshit meter was working quite well, enough to know all of that was wrong, lies. She didn't mind the rest so much, everyone lied at one time or another, had lied about her quite often (though she couldn't quite remember who or about what); but saying she was alone, that she had no one to care for her, THAT upset her, that was just TOO wrong, too much of a lie. She DID, she just couldn't quite remember who or figure out why they weren't here. So, she didn't respond to that second group any more than she did to the first.

{"Let them think I'm simple! I don't care about their opinion anyway!"} She knew she probably had just a little bit of a pout on her lips at that thought; at least, it seemed likely. She didn't feel like it would be out of character for her somehow. She didn't get the impression she was a very malleable person.

The third group, well, it wasn't that she disliked them, it was just that she seemed more like a doll to them. They'd undress her and bathe her, brush her hair, talked about how pretty it was, dress her in fresh clothes, pose her prettily, and leave. She didn't talk to them either; they spoke to her in baby-talk, mostly, which she'd never fancied even for infants, though there was the one older woman who talked more sensibly. Still, she didn't see any reason to start up a conversation; she couldn't picture them being any more forthcoming with information than the other visitors.

One day there was a visitor unlike the others, a rather odd one, she thought. She lay there and let her eyes drift over him as he came through the door, ducking slightly to prevent his long ears from knocking against the frame. She rather liked those ears, pale ashen fur with the insides flushed with pink; they looked as if they'd be pleasant to run her fingers along; she wondered if he'd like that, if she did. She could almost feel her lips, even her tongue experiencing the rims of those ears, and realized that was a very odd thought indeed. His eyes now, they were kind and laughing and caring, and gave her her first feelings of warmth since she'd, since she'd . . .

She started to drift again, but blinked rapidly and swallowed as he came closer. No, now was not the time to sleep, not when she actually had a visitor who might be different from the others. No, surely was different. His clothes, for one thing; how did he DO that??!

First he was in that rather oldfashioned waistcoat with striped vest and trousers, with a huge watch chain draped across his middle, though with no shoes. Then, a blur, and, what were those? Khaki's? Terribly baggy on him, they were, though his feet were still bare; well, she doubted it would be easy to get shoes on those huge feet, a good match for those ears. She spared another look for his face, his eyes. Blue, very pale blue. Her face developed a puzzled frown, {"do rabbits HAVE blue eyes??"}

She decided she liked his face, a lot, though a better choice of clothes could show him to better advantage. She blinked, and now, a dark tuxedo graced his form, snug and draped beautifully; why, he was really quite handsome. Though she could also picture him in blue, blue denim jeans, maybe, with a pale blue shirt. Yes, she thought that would make a rather nice picture, one she'd not mind looking at for considerable time. Certainly better than that silly Monet.

He smiled at her, {"oh, I do like that smile!"} and he said, glancing down at himself now that the blue denim was snugly in place, "better than that first lot, ei? 'Andsome, now, that aint a word I 'ear too often, least not said bout myself, but I suppose it depends on who's doing the looking, dont it? But, don't you think there's been enough lazing around, luv? Never knew you to take the easy way, back away from what needs doing. Come on, 'Gaida, up and at em, that's my girl! Go take a look round, see what there is to see, what you can use to get yourself outta this mess. Don't let me down, now," he admonished her, but gently, and left after placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She wanted to call out, ask him not to leave, but couldn't make her voice work, and that made her sad. Sad, but determined to do as he asked; maybe if she did, he'd come back and visit again. She really wanted that, really she did. She pictured herself running her lips along the edge of those long ears and trembled, even as she smiled.

Since no one seemed inclined to be really helpful and tell her about the other rooms, or what lay outside, or address any of her really important concerns, she decided to go exploring by herself. They'd said she couldn't, that she couldn't move or walk or anything like that, but, she reasoned, they were lying about so many other things, why not that as well. After all, HE'D seemed to think she could do just that very thing!

So, she went wandering. It was a little disconcerting when she got out of the bed and reached for that white robe to discover she'd seemingly left her body behind, and that although she was wearing that robe, another just like it lay in that exact same spot, but she ended shrugging it off as just another of the odd things that had happened recently. She took a good look at herself, lying there, {"not pretty, though my hair is rather nice. I wonder if he likes red hair?"} smiling to think of her visitor. His own was a quite attractive shade, not gold, much paler than that, but still quite nice. {"I wonder if it was as soft as it looked. I wonder if it would be rude to ask to run my fingers over it, just so I'd know. Maybe next time . . ."} 

She was increasingly delighted as she roamed the house. Why did they insist she stay in that one boring room where there were all these wonderful places she could be instead??! There was a library, shelf after shelf of books, and she was ever so pleased to find one after another after another of her old favorites. 'The Hobbit' brought a particular thrill, and a flash of shared enjoyment, a far too brief glimpse of a wide smile and blue eyes. There was 'The Jungle Book'; she remembered that one from when she was much younger, as well as 'Arsenic and Old Lace,' and there were two others with her, reading those words, acting out the scenes, and she felt their rough fondness and hers for them. On a small table beside on of the big armchairs another book lay, face down, held open as if to mark the place the reader had stopped. 'Harvey' it said, with a rather tenuous outline of, well, of all things, a tall rabbit standing upright! She spared time for a giggle at her thoughts, her memory of her visitor. Those books - Oh, so many to choose from! There was a phrase, she seemed to remember, 'a well furnished mind is always a treasure!', and the voice, a woman's voice, it warmed her through and through. 

There was a music room, with instruments to play upon, ones she was certain she knew how to play, with piles of sheet music equally familiar. Some seemed to speak to her heart, as if they'd come from inside her, only to reappear here in paper form; those were the ones she kept going back to, knowing if she could remember the significance of these, she would be so much closer to, well, whatever she was searching for. She thumbed through the music again. {"And When I Dream - Slow Dancing - How Deep is the Ocean - oh so many!"} Another brief flash, pale blue eyes, light blond hair, and an almost unbearable tug at her heart at the oh-so-brief feeling of warm arms enfolding her.

There was a device in the corner, seemingly a combination of phonograph and radio, and when she turned the dials, symphonies and concerts poured out, ones she'd always loved, and if she twisted the second set of dials, voices poured forth, so familiar, singing songs she remembered and loved and she knew she could have sung along with them without any hesitation, even knew which part she'd be singing, whether harmony or melody or descant. She listened to two arrangements of a song about a brown haired laddie, the first traditional and fairly sad all through; the second, more than a little bawdy and irreverent, and she laughed at the verses and how embarrassed that brown haired laddie would be if he could hear them. He had blue-green eyes, that laddie, she was sure of that, and a remarkably lovely smile; he wasn't hers, but he was family, she was sure of that. 

An art gallery proved a rich source of entertainment; there was even an excellent copy (for surely it couldn't be the original??) of a Dragon Polyptych someone, her mother she thought, had taken her to see so many years ago; she could hear a faint voice telling her the story behind the paintings, pointing out the lessons to be learned, the values to be taught. She ran her finger just above the paint, never touching, but relishing in the detail, the scales, the whirling gold-brown eyes, the sharp claws. She spent a great deal of time in front of that grouping, and it was as if it was emersing into her spirit, somehow, bridging the gaps in the cracks and fissures she felt within herself, telling her things she needed to know, needed to remember.

There were portraits on the far wall, but she was disappointed that they were covered by a gauze-like material on a cord that she just couldn't quite seem to figure out how to release and let her look her fill.

When she grew hungry, {"and when was the last time I felt hungry? Usually I just swallow that tasteless whatever they bring me and not even think about it."}, she wandered til she found a warm kitchen with a fireplace and a black kettle of soup simmering there, and an assortment of sweets laid out on the counter. She searched here and there til she found a bowl and spoon and a small loaf of fresh bread and made herself a fine meal, the first one in a long time. {"He'd relish this soup, nice and flavorful and hearty it is. And a piece of that berry tart."} She wasn't sure who he was, but she knew he'd choose the berry over the apple, and suddenly her meal wasn't as pleasant, for not being able to share it with him.

She grew weary and returned to that bland room, and joined herself, who'd seemingly spent all this time napping. {"It seems a shame; she'd enjoy the library and the music room and all, just as much as I did!"} and she resolved to try and coax her to join in the next excursion.

She still hadn't been able to convince her other self to come exploring, but she did spend time telling the far too lazy woman about all the treasures out there. She wasn't sure, but she thought she might be getting through sometimes, when a stray movement or sound would come forth, though never when those others were present. Somehow that seemed best, and she didn't press to change that.

It was more pleasant in some ways to do the wandering now, ever since she'd opened the closet and found clothes that she was much more comfortable in than that nightgown and robe and slippers. Now, whenever she got the urge, she dressed in the long full skirt and simple blouse and braided her hair into a coronet and sallied forth. Funny, those clothes, when she put them on, they didn't leave replacements hanging in their place; things were just so odd and unpredictable in this place! The polyptych in the art gallery got a visit each trip, and she always spent time in front of those shielded portraits, wondering, trying to find the secret to removing that barrier to her seeing clearly.

On her last trip back to her room, she paused at the windows, for the first time being able to pull back the curtains, but was disappointed to see nothing but fog. That seemed a pity, considering all the time she'd spent lying in that bed wondering what lay outside. She started to join her sleeping, what, friend? Self? when she froze, breathed in sharply, turned and walked quickly back to the art gallery; somehow, she thought she knew how to release those portraits; she couldn't imagine why she'd never thought of it before, it was so obvious! 

She stood in front of that space above the fireplace mantle, the gauze firmly in place over the portraits. She spared a thought as to how she'd even known they were portraits since she couldn't see through the coverings. But that didn't matter now; now she knew what she had to do.

Among the various ornaments on the mantle, there was a shiny enameled and gilded snuffbox, so glittery it couldn't help catching your attention, and she was ever so annoyed that it hadn't caught hers before now. {"He would have noticed it right away,"} came as a stray thought, though she didn't try to figure out who the he was this time. Not now.

She reached out a trembling hand and brought the box close to her, lifting the lid to hear a tinkling sound, and when she raised her head, the gauze was folding, gathering itself, and sliding to the side, til the portraits were fully visible. There were many here, but she knew in truth there were many, many more not on display, lifetime after lifetime of portraits, many of the faces similar enough that only by the clothing would she have even been able to tell what time they'd lived in, certainly not their identity if the names weren't on the brass plates at the bottom.

Those last three rows at the bottom, though, those she could name, and did so. She swallowed heavily, and slowly, carefully, named each from the top left to right, then starting on the second row, then the third. {"The Grandmother, Mother, Father, Caeide, Michael, Patrick, Ciena, Ian, Douglas, Coura . . .} And the list went on and on. {"AJ and Sheila, Peter, and Maudie and Marisol, Kevin Richards and Julie, Ben and Alice Miller . . .} The last row she knew were more recent ones, and those names she spoke out loud, though in an ever increasingly low voice, "Gil, Actor, Chief, Casino, Craig," till when she reached the last she whispered, "my Englishman, my laddie. . . Goniff!" She stood for the longest time, drinking in his face, all of their faces, surely, but returning to his over and over again.

Inside the rage was growing, somehow both fiery hot and ice cold, rage that they had tried to steal this from her, her history, her family, her treasure! And she felt the spirit of the Dragon in that polyptych hiss in satisfaction, that her spirit had finally reawoken, once again ready to take up its duty to cherish and protect the treasure. And with one final look at that wall of portraits, one final caress of her fingertips to that last painting, she whirled and returned to the room where her other self slept, to urge her to awaken and let them join together in a battle that her captors would never forget.

And in the back of her mind there was one question throbbing for an answer, well, really two, {"how long? How long have I been gone? And will my treasure still be there when I find my way home?"} Those unanswered questions made her even more, well, perhaps testy wasn't the right word. Perhaps there really weren't any words to express what she was feeling.

**

Jimmy Longuire didn't particularly like the O'Donnell woman, the Dragon, Ice Queen, whatever they called her, and lord knows there were plenty of nicknames to choose from, some funny, some just rude, some downright scary. He never had, probably never would, seek out her company, far too detached and prickly for his tastes, and he preferred a woman who knew how to have a little fun when the job was done. But he had worked with her on a number of occasions since he'd been with Ainsley's team and knew she was a good agent, a good one to have at your back in a fight. Hell, she'd pulled his best friend, Len Briggs, out of that firefight last year, him bleeding all over the place, a dead weight and half again her size; Len would've died if it hadn't been for that woman, and here Len was right along at his side where he belonged, fit and hearty again. She wasn't even supposed to be working in the field anymore, from what he'd heard, something about Contracts or such. One of the ARABS at HQ had tried putting out the rumor that she'd gotten knocked up and was off raising a kid, maybe two, somewhere, but what with her reputation for dealing mayhem to anyone who tried to get close, well, that went nowhere fast. Idiot got laughed out of the commissary the last time he brought it up. Hell, she'd worked with Ainsley's team off and on up to about six months ago, and he'd seen her maybe four, five times since then, and she sure didn't look any different to him.

But then there she was, and all because Ainsley had done a few odds and ends for Garrison's team, and whatever the connection was there, and Jimmy didn't know and didn't particularly want to know, that had been enough for the O'Donnell woman to show up on their doorstep, dufflebag in hand, those damned knives of hers firmly in place, just when they needed her. Now he watched helplessly as that doctor rammed the syringe into her back and her going down like a sack of coal. And, no, he COULDN'T do anything to help her; he had that female researcher and the files they'd been sent to get out, and she was slightly injured and tending on hysteria, and she was all he could handle. He cursed silently to himself all the way out through the vents they'd planned as their exit. When he made it to the outside and joined up with the rest of the team, Ainsley looked behind him, as if searching for the redhead, and then brought his eyes back to look at Jimmy. One look told him she wasn't coming. 

The only reason she'd been on this mission was that the team was down three guys after that freak accident right before they left, another driver losing control and slamming into their second jeep, leaving Carson and Evans and Miller groaning on the tarmack. Well, those things happened, not that he hadn't laid into the half-drunk Yank driver til the onlookers had to pull him off, and if it had just been Carson, who was a good allround man but not a specialist, it wouldn't have hampered them too much, but when it took out their safecracker AND their high-wire guy outta the picture at the same time, well, Ainsley was in a real bind. The guys would be okay, but it'd be a couple weeks or more before they were ready for business and this couldn't wait. Everything was in place, they had two hours before departure, and lives depended on them getting this job done - lots of lives if the intel was right.

So Ainsley had done what simply wasn't done; he'd bypassed HQ and their bullshit entirely and put in a call to Garrison, thinking he maybe could borrow his specialists. Garrison owed him a couple of favors, and though everyone knew the blond lieutenant didn't like loaning out his people, well, maybe this time.

But Garrison and the team were gone, just left on a mission, and somehow Rawlins had gotten the information out of Ainsley, and the next thing they knew, there was the redhead, on their doorstep just like it was a given that, of course she'd help. The only real explanation he could get was a faint smile and a soft, "there's a debt. You got them out, Casino and Chief; we owe you."

Just how a debt Garrison only maybe owed (since Special Forces tended not to think in those lines, even about pulling other guys out of death traps like that set-up in Italy, since next time it could easily be the other way around) translated into a debt the Ice Queen owed, Ainsley didn't quite get, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now he was supposed to go back and tell Garrison, 'we lost her; sorry about that?'

Thinking, thinking of how he could rework the plan, taking into account he was still three people short on his six person team, he knew his options were nonexistent, and headed to the pickup point, the researcher in the middle of the group to keep her safe and from panicking. They made record time, ready to leave, when Jimmy and Len approached him, "we get back there in a hurry, maybe we can find out, you know; you can send someone back for us after we know something," and Ainsley thought about it, but he wasn't going to leave any of his team behind, though that was pretty much what he was doing anyway, he knew, leaving the woman back there. He turned to the Underground contact, told him what had happened, described the O'Donnell woman; Jacques agreed to see if he could find out more information, relay it on.

Knowing he really didn't have any other choice, Ainsley motioned his guys onto the transport, and headed home. He had a long trip ahead of him, and he'd be spending a lot of that time figuring just how to explain this to Garrison, and praying Jacques came up with some good news. Ainsley took another sip of the bitter coffee he'd been offered, knowing just how unlikely that was to happen, finding that truth even more bitter than the coffee.

But Jacques DID come through with news, possibly good, at least somewhat promising. The contact inside the research facility had not fallen under suspicion and was still able to get information out, and the latest was that, although the doctor in charge was furious about the failed security and the missing researcher, he was enthralled with their captive. According to the contact, whatever was in that syringe was supposedly deadly, instantaneously, and yet, somehow, the woman had survived, and the doctor was intent on finding out just why. He had arranged for her transport to a private nursing facility just over the border in Switzerland, and had been dividing his time between the two locations.

Ainsley was just glad he had that information in hand before he walked into the Mansion; the reaction from Garrison AND his team was everything he'd expected and more. They'd just gotten back, just found out she was gone, and now to find she'd been left behind, somewhere on the German/Swiss border? Well, he didn't blame them, he'd have been furious if he'd been in their shoes, though he hadn't really expected their pickpocket to come at him that way, like the short blond was a hungry, possibly rabid dog and Ainsley's throat a meaty bone. Their safecracker had physically got in between, but the look on HIS face told Ainsley that it wasn't because of any friendly feelings towards the team leader.

Both teams were on stand-down for debriefing, but somehow it didn't surprise him when, after he tried to reach Garrison the next day, he was told the lieutenant "is not available. No, sir, I'm sure I don't know. No, sir, not at all. Yes, sir, I'll take the message." Rawlins had been professionally courteous, but Ainsley knew he'd lost huge points with the non-com for not returning what had so generously lent. He figured Rawlins was feeling guilty too, having let the woman know of the mission in the first place. So he hung up the phone, and waited, hoping against hope there would be good news at some point.

 

It was something of an anticlimax when they conned their way into the facility to find a highly-annoyed redhead dressed in a hastily-borrowed set of clothing, trying to 'gently coax' information out of a rather battered doctor. Well, maybe not so gently; this was the bastard who kept sticking her with needles and making impertinent comments and asking her even more impertinent questions. And the fact that she'd spent a solid week between her mind and spirit's 'awakening' to when she thought her lazier body had recovered enough to make an escape possible.

A full week of trying to gain strength without anyone catching on to the fact that she was once again awake.

A full week of dreams, nightmares, of getting back home to find herself long forgotten, the team disbanded, Craig's having 'moved on', and Goniff and the others just 'gone', with no one able or willing to tell her anything more than that, them she asked just shrugging and saying they didn't really remember, "it's been a long time".

Finding Craig at the Cottage, but not being allowed inside the garden gate, though there were voices, ones she knew and loved, but who no longer loved her, welcomed her. Being told again that they had all moved on, and she should do the same.>p>

Standing alone on the side of an abyss, feeling her soul shred then shatter, leaving only an empty body waiting for, for what she didn't know, perhaps release.

She'd waken drenched in sweat, and those assigned to care for her would fuss and twitter and remark on what could be causing her to be in such distress. She'd thought she just might lose her mind during that week, and only her duty as a Dragon, to find and protect her treasure, kept her motivated. Those dreams, hinting of her having failed in that endeavor, of having lost her treasure forever, she'd not forget them anytime soon.

And so, when the doctor arrived, him and his two flunkies, for another little question and answer session, thinking to inject her with another round of that nasty stuff he'd come up with, just to see how she'd react, he found more than he'd thought to find, certainly more than he'd ever hoped to find. He found out exactly how she'd react; she got pissy as hell, that's how she reacted!!

The doctor had thought to escape in the excitement of the reunion, but a quick movement on her part thwarted his plans. Seems he wasn't nearly so resistant to that special bit of nasty liquid as she was. She estimated he was dead before he hit the floor.

She heaved a deep sigh of relief when she was gathered into warm arms for an even warmer hug, and heard that raspy chuckle in her ear, "now that's my girl!" She glanced up at him, smiling, but then blinked in brief confusion. There was something about his ears that just didn't quite look right, at first glance, but then the air shimmered and he was just as he was supposed to be, and she was content. She thought he was remarkably handsome in either form.

It wasn't til they were back in that plane headed home that she came apart. The others watched over their shoulders in concern as she huddled in his arms, weeping as if the world had ended. She wasn't talking, only crying, and he looked helplessly at the others, looking for some direction, something. But he could tell they didn't know any more than he did how to help. So he did all he could, really the only thing he could have done that would bring comfort, and that was to continue to hold her, rocking her in his arms, just being there. She quieted eventually, and he could tell she slept, but he continued to hold her close, and even in her sleep she knew he was there.

Somehow she'd assumed that when she returned to the Cottage that all would be well. Oh, she figured on some bad memories, bad dreams; those came with more than a few of the missions. But what came to her now shook her foundation, and she knew she had to do something about it.

That one dream came to her, over and over again, until there were no peaceful nights, and she was beginning to see the taint clouding her perspective. She dreaded leaving the Cottage, afraid she'd not be able to find her way back; no, she admitted to herself, afraid she'd not be allowed back inside, would return to find it locked against her. Craig she now was becoming increasingly wary of, distrustful of. In the others, she watched for signs that she was no longer important to them.

And Goniff, well whether with him or away, she found herself thinking maudlin thoughts, almost (though never quite) sliding into the pining extravagences of some pathetic version of Lady Caroline Lamb. The only smile that appalling thought got her was the one she gave when she thought of how Actor would have viewed that statement, not only the image it gave of her, but also since it seemingly cast Goniff in the role of Lord Byron. She rather imagined the tall sophisticated and educated Italian would choke, possibly to his demise. 

Only the fact that she directly attributed this morose and depressing haunting to the poison injected into her during her acquaintence with the 'doctor' kept her somewhat focused, and before she slid even farther into the tar pits of despair, she called for help from the Clan, and help came in the form of her older sister Caeide and their cousin Cally.

Together they helped her prepare to walk the Moon Paths, for that was something not as easy for a Dragon to master as for the rest of them, and soon she took the hot tea and blankets into the garden, along with the herbs for burning, and stepped out into the blackness that was the void. Once on the cobblestones that led to the bridge she got her bearings, and without pause stepped onto the crystal and light edifice that arched into the sky. Slowly, carefully, for this was not familiar territory to her, her only having come this way rarely, she made her way to the small half-moon protrusion and stepped forward to gaze into the mists. The storm birds flew their sparkling patterns, and she smiled to think how Goniff's fingers would twitch at all that gold and ruby and turquoise shimmering and glimmering just out of reach.

And she pulled the dream, the dream and all its variations forward to hang in suspension before her; let the void test it for truth or falsehood, and tears of relief came to her as the dark grey outline grew to contain each and every one of them. If there had been truth there, any truth at all, that outline would have been dark blue, she knew that, at least that is what she'd been taught. And seeing the dreams now in their reality, as just remnants of that poison still lingering inside her, she released them to the void, and watched them sink until out of sight. She stood and opened her mind, her soul, but nothing else came to be studied, to be judged, and finally she turned and moved on. Well, the Moon Paths weren't the normal haunts of a Dragon.

The last part of the journey was one of guidance, of learning, never to be revealed to anyone else, but her smile as she stepped off that bridge, as she came to herself in her garden, that smile was real, quiet and serene and hopeful. And she sat Vigil for the remainder of the night, and in the morning joined her sister and her cousin to break their fast, and they too were well content with what they saw in her eyes.

And when he came to her again, when the newest mission was over, when he and Craig and their brothers came home, she was herself again, and she could welcome them honestly, look at them with clear and loving eyes. And if they didn't know just how close they'd been to losing her, they DID know all was right between them once again, and that meant something to them as well. For she had become family, just as they had become family to each other. 

And one lingering bit of amusement came from that period in her life, and that was when her sisters joined them for drinks at the Mansion, and the story was retold by both sides (though with some bits skimmed over, of course, the Moon Paths not generally spoken of easily, and the only mention of the dream being that she was having unpleasant ones, the actual details lost into the void to her everlasting relief).

Actor later heard Ciena tell Meghada, "well, I'm glad I wasn't here for that! You, the Dragon, channelling Lady Caroline Lamb! Oh Sweet Mother!"

And Meghada was right, the thought caught Actor in the back of his throat and he DID almost choke, though whether it was from shock, horror or laughter she was never sure. Still, throughout the evening, though he never succumbed so violently again, that choking sensation would come back, he would look at their cheeky little Cockney teammate and back at her, swallow hard and deep, and wipe his eyes of the tears that formed.

Goniff slid over to her toward the end of the evening, not bothering to whisper, "ei, 'Gaida, you think Actor's alright? Seems kinda off tonight, dont ya think?" and she reached over, stroked the back of her fingers over his cheek, smiled and assured him, "he's fine, laddie. Just swallowed wrong, I think, and it's sticking with him. He'll get over it."

Goniff cast a doubting eye at the tall man and said, "thought it might 'ave been that nonsense bout you and the Lady Caroline. No offense to Ciena, acourse, but that'd put me as that Lord B, and I don't know that I'd like that one bit. I mean, dab 'and with a pen, if you like all that off in the clouds kinda stuff, but for the rest, sounds like a right loose screw to me. Don't seem like 'e could keep it tucked away long enough to even DO all that writing, much less sleep or take time for meals, you know??! Not too particular either! Surprised 'e wasn't taken up by the screws for some of that! And all those monkeys and birds and such, running around inside littering up the floor, don't know you'd much like that. And sides, that just aint you, 'Gaida; first time you got wind of w'at 'e was up to, you'd just 'ave shot the bloke and 'ad done with it!" and cast a disturbingly knowing look over at Actor who was once again choking til the tears streamed from his face.

Meghada had a grin of absolute and total joy and appreciation on her face as she threw back her head and laughed, and then leaned forward and touched her head against that flaxen-blond one and whispered into his ear, and just the faintest hint of a smile came to his face, "yes, I think you 'ave mentioned that a time or two, 'Gaida. Me too!" and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

Later, sipping on the rather nice whiskey Ciena had brought with her, the tall con man once again shook his head in helpless confusion. All of that, from their resident pickpocket, it violated everything Actor was dead certain he knew about his teammate. Garrison came over to see what had his second in command sitting in that arm chair looking like someone had hit him with a two by four.

Actor looked up and said, in a low and rather shaken voice, "Craig, it is not often that I agree with Casino, but in this I feel I really must!" Garrison gave him an inquiring look, and Actor nodded over at Meghada and Goniff quietly sharing a drink, "I really never WILL understand those two!"

Craig Garrison couldn't help it, that face was just so totally bewildered, he burst out laughing, "don't worry about it, Actor. As long as THEY do, it'll be alright!" Someday, maybe, he thought his resident pickpocket might just take off all the masks, and he really wanted to be around when that happened. If nothing else, someone was going to have to perform CPR on Actor. Casino might just be beyond help, though.

Sometime between missions, Ainsley and his team finally made it to the Mansion, having been assured that this time there wouldn't be fireworks upon arrival. If they were surprised to find the Ice Queen comfortably in situ as well as Garrison and his team, along with the Sergeant Major, they made no mention of it.

Things were shifted around, more chairs brought in, a couple of bottles opened, and Jimmy and Len exchanged an incredulous glance as, supposedly in the interests of freeing up more seating space, the little pickpocket was sharing one of the big arm chairs with the redhead. Oh, they had started out with him in the chair and her perched easily on the arm, but it wasn't long til they were both tucked in as neatly as could be. Jimmy had watched as that happened, and kept waiting for her to bounce one off the Cockney for his boldness in tugging her down to that position, but to Jimmy's continued astonishment, she seemed as comfortable and content as a cat in front of a warm fire, eventually curling her legs into the chair, her knees over one of his thighs. Len elbowed him sometime later and jerked his head, and when Jimmy followed his pointed gaze, he now saw those arms snaked around the woman's waist, and her head leaning into the curve of the pickpocket's neck. Jimmy snickered, {"Ice Queen, yeah, right",} and a more than slightly smug look from the pickpocket reinforced that thought, though there was more than a bit of a warning in that look as well, which both men duly noted and respected. They wouldn't be talking this around or using it as an indication she might welcome their approaches. They'd worked with the team often enough to not take the man lightly, and the O'Donnell woman, well, they weren't stupid!

Ainsley had watched this progression throughout the evening, and just shook his head. He said softly to Garrison and Actor, "she's certainly changed her tune," to have them both snort, and to have Casino warn him, "don't be fooled by what yer seeing. She aint any more inclined to get friendly than she ever was, well, with anyone except the little Limey, that is. Big Mike still has a Pool going to prove it, won ten pounds off it last week when she sent those three bozo's from the Base to the infirmary for trying something on. Just, the two of them, well, guess you could say they do a real nice duet, know what I mean? I don't understand it, but what can ya do?"


End file.
